


Space In-Between

by kitausu



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship, Slice of Life, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22782091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitausu/pseuds/kitausu
Summary: Neil and Andrew are outed by the press, except it doesn't really matter or change a thing.-(Or, snippets of Andrew and Neil's life in between Exy, and PR, and having to talk to other people who exist in the world).
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 92
Kudos: 960





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are several of these "secret relationship" "outed by the press" "fake-rivalry" "relationship snapshot" fics, but I just really wanted to throw my hat into the ring after taking a pretty lengthy break from writing fanfiction.

It isn’t that no one believes that Neil _could_ have a boyfriend. He’s handsome, objectively. His eyes are that piercing blue, and his hair is this particular shade of auburn that has everyone within a three-mile radius swooning when the sun hits it just right. Really, in the looks department, Neil is probably everyone’s type.

The problem is…Neil is married to Exy. Everyone on the Chicago Bears has met Neil and knows this without a shadow of a doubt. Nothing and no one is ever going to come between Neil and the game, and every player on the Bears has money on that.

\---

Amanda is busy lacing up her shoes when she hears the soft snort beside her. Jason isn’t looking at her though, he has his eyes locked on Neil who is out running drills with his new sub.

She kicks Jason lightly in the ankle, forcing their goalie to look down at where Amanda is still bent over on the bench. “What?”

Jason is a man of few words, it’s one of the reasons him and Neil get along so well she suspects. It’s also why he just grunts and points to their new striker, uncaring if anyone sees the way he has singled Andy out.

At first, Amanda doesn’t get what he’s pointing at. Andy isn’t the best striker they’ve ever signed, and it’s even more obvious when he’s next to Neil. But Jason isn’t the kind of guy to laugh at someone genuinely trying, and Andy is genuine if nothing else.

But when Jason continues to just point, Amanda sighs and watches more closely. Andy is dogging Neil’s heals, not unusual if Neil is trying to give him instruction. Except, when they stop Andy is still standing close to Neil, way closer than necessary.

“Oh,” Amanda breathes on a laugh, and Jason finally lowers his arm with another huff.

Neil, bless him, doesn’t seem particularly aware of the proximity. Except Amanda watches as he starts twirling his stick, nearly hitting Andy in the face with every pass. She recognizes it as the same nervous tick that Kevin Day has, a habit Neil has denied picking up, but it shows he must be at least a little aware that things are off.

“That poor, stupid, moron,” Amanda says, and they both know she doesn’t mean Neil.

They’re professional Exy players; they _get_ Neil. They’re all in love with Exy, would probably die for Exy, or close to it. Neil being married to Exy is nothing out of the ordinary in their world. Amanda wants to walk over and shake Andy until he walks off, until he gets it. Neil is the poster boy for Exy obsession, and only an idiot wouldn’t see that.

Neil doesn’t have time for anything beyond the Court, and it’ll save them all a lot of heart-ache if Andy would figure it out sooner rather than later.

\--

The door is unlocked when Neil gets home, Andrew’s oxfords already lined up neatly by the wall. Neil kicks his sneakers off so they knock Andrew’s purposefully askew and doesn’t bother to fix them. He’s going to hear about it later, but Neil only smirks to himself in anticipation. Andrew was in PR land all day for their game tomorrow, and is probably looking forward to giving Neil a hard time anyway. Neil hates to deprive Andrew of anything, so he nudges Andrew’s shoes a little farther into the entryway. 

The lights are on in the living room, and Neil can easily see Andrew’s socked feet propped up on the arm of the couch. Neil waves his hand slightly as he gets closer so Andrew has time to see him and say no. He doesn’t make a sound so Neil takes it as the _yes_ he knows it is, and gently slides his fingers through Andrew’s hair.

Andrew cats up into the touch without a word, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at Neil.

“Hey,” Neil murmurs, feeling suddenly like all the sound has been sucked out of the room. 

Andrew’s gaze has a habit of doing that to Neil, of making him forget that anyone else exists.

There had been thoughts in Neil’s head, he is sure, something about dinner, or the cats, or something else equally unimportant. But all he can think about is Andrew and the feeling of Andrew’s curls against his skin and how much he loves that he is allowed to touch.

“Junkie,” Andrew whispers, and they both know he doesn’t mean Exy this time.

Neil watches the way Andrew moves gently into his palm, asking for more without saying a word.

“Kiss me?” Neil asks, and Andrew’s eyes narrow.

“Yes,” Andrew drawls, one eyebrow quirking up to let Neil know if he wants a kiss, he’s the one moving.

It’s an easy thing to give, and Neil braces himself on the back of the couch. It’s a short distance to fall, Neil leaning forward faster than he means to so he only barely stops their mouths from slamming into each other and giving Andrew a fat-lip.

“Lazy,” Neil chastises anyway, letting Andrew pull him the last centimeter down with a firm hand on the back of his neck. 

\--

When Neil had asked, Andrew had stared at him for several long seconds before finally saying, “I’m not the marrying kind.”

It’s an outright lie, the papers signed already two years ago and carefully folded in Andrew’s desk with all their other insurance and tax documents. Neil ignores the words and focuses on the fact that they aren’t a yes. He’s holding himself incredibly still, muscles locked so he barely fidgets as he waits. It’s not an answer.

“Is that a no?” It’s too big of a question for Neil to do anything without a loud and clear yes, and he doesn’t have one yet.

Andrew considers him from where he is leaning up against the counter, one finger tapping lightly against the side of his coffee mug. “It’s a why.”

That, Neil understands. Andrew knows Neil, to the point that Neil wonders if Andrew can even read his thoughts. So, Neil dropping a bomb like this must have Andrew spinning, at least a little.

“Because I can’t wear a ring while I play, but I like seeing you with me.”

Andrew processes that for several more seconds, staring at anywhere Neil’s skin is exposed from his clothes, as if trying to picture his own initials manifesting there as they speak.

They’re apart so much right now, their teams traveling on different schedules and practicing in different states. Andrew is technically based out of Indianapolis, and Neil in Chicago, but the place they rent is halfway between. Even so, Neil still feels like they’re never together anymore, and he wants a reminder of who he belongs to even if he doesn’t get the real thing.

“You’re already mine.” No matter how bored Andrew sounds, Neil knows he couldn’t be more interested in where this conversation is heading.

Andrew’s eyes are focused intently on Neil’s face, reading his every thought in the lines creasing around Neil’s eyes. It’s a conversation picked back up years later, from when Neil gave himself to Andrew, from when Andrew claimed Neil as one of his.

“I am.” Neil agrees, not saying anything else.

He won’t beg Andrew for this. Getting the tattoo or not getting the tattoo, it doesn’t change a thing. He is Andrew’s and Andrew is his and that will never change. Neil doesn’t _need_ the tattoo, he just wants it, like the key to the Columbia house they still own, or his old Foxes jersey. He just wants it, that’s all.

Andrew must see that in Neil’s face because he finally sighs and looks away. “You’re a sentimental moron, you know that?”

And Neil can sense the yes buried in between those words, but years with Andrew ( _ten years,_ he thinks and smiles) has Neil needing to hear the word all the same.

“Andrew—”

“It’s a yes.” Andrew isn’t looking at him, but his shoulders are loose and Neil can see that Andrew has decided to be a little pleased despite himself. 

“Ok—”

Andrew cuts him off. “I’m coming with you.”

Neil had already anticipated that, knowing Andrew wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of someone else touching Neil, marking Neil, without Andrew there to watch them like a hawk.

“We both have some time off soon. I’ll make the appointment then.”

When Andrew waves Neil over, he goes willingly, tucking his chin on Andrew’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Andrew’s waist the moment he whispers, _yes._

\---

Neil is convinced the media is disappointed by how little he and Andrew interact on the court. There had been article after article leading up to their first game, Bears versus Bulldogs, Josten versus Minyard. _Will the former Foxes be able to handle each other on the court?_

As much as the press seems to want to read something into their every more, there really is very little to see. On the court, Neil is focused on Exy, on winning. The way Andrew moves in the goal, as graceful as any dancer, is a peripheral thing that Neil catalogues and forgets. It’s only once they’re home alone that Neil takes it back out to whisper filthy praise in Andrew’s ear in their shower. 

But between the space of the game, in the confines of the Court, Neil is a striker, first and foremost.

\---

Neil refuses to look over at the Bulldog’s goal, feeling Andrew’s infuriated stare as he walks out on the court after half-time. There had been a rough collision right before the whistle, an accident for once, but Neil had gone down hard and hit his elbow in such a way that Neil swore he felt it in his teeth.

It still ached now, a bruise already forming, creeping up Neil’s bicep and down his forearm. Andrew had texted him furiously during half-time, demanding an update. Neil had only barely resisted typing, _I’m fine,_ and forced himself to tell the truth.

The bone was likely bruised, nothing major, but Neil needed to rest to avoid hurting himself further.

Andrew had sent him a warning in the form of his name: _Neil._

Neil had ignored it, just like Andrew knew he would, which was why he is silently staring Neil down with every ounce of fury and hatred Neil has ever felt from him.

Taking his spot on the court, Neil tries to heft his heavy-weight racket, only just concealing a wince as it twinges his elbow. The court is near silent, the referee getting ready to blow the whistle for game play, the tension making Neil’s skin crawl as his muscles tense, ready to run. His elbow hurts, but he knows he’ll be fine, he just has to get to the ball, just has to--

The slam of a racket on the floor has nearly everyone jumping a foot in the air, everyone but Neil, who has at least partially seen this coming. The referee turns, alarmed, as 5 feet of angry goalie comes stomping across the court directly into Neil’s face.

“Get off the court.”

“Andrew—”

“ _Now._ ”

For a second, Neil thinks about arguing, but he can see how serious Andrew is and sighs. “Fine.”

Neil waves for the referee, Andrew still close at his side, as if waiting for Neil to go back on his word.

“I’m injured, I need to sub out.” Neil gestures at his elbow and the ref nods in understanding, even if she casts suspicious glances at Andrew out of the corner of her eye.

Andrew doesn’t wait for her to say anything, his gloved hands turning Neil around and pushing him gently towards the door. Neil can hear his teammates starting to grumble, but Neil waves them off.

It isn’t worth arguing with Andrew about this. If he does, he’ll be spending one of their few nights together on the couch instead of their bed, and Neil doesn’t take that trade lightly. Besides, Neil’s elbow throbs as he takes a seat on the bench, and he knows Andrew is right.

\---

The medic for the Chicago Bears has her game face on when Neil walks into the locker room.

“I’m going to need you to take your shirt off,” Sara says, no pre-amble, no nonsense.

Neil quirks an eyebrow, an annoying habit he picked up from Andrew. “That’s a little forward.”

She doesn’t laugh, but only stares at him. Neil likes her a lot actually, and finally relents. She doesn’t gasp or even acknowledge his scars, helping him to remove his gear and shirt without hurting his elbow too much.

The only reaction she gives is a slight hum when she turns Neil’s arm over to inspect his range of motion and catches sight of the three letters scrawled across Neil’s inner bicep. Neil doesn’t care, wincing more at the way his shoulder pulls than her seeing the tattoo.

They have never purposefully hid their relationship, but they’re both private people and the idea of announcing their relationship just has never appealed to either of them.

“That explains the fight,” Sara says.

It isn’t a question so Neil remains silent. Sara bandages Neil’s arm without another word and helps him put his shirt back on so he doesn’t injure himself more in the process. 

Neil is almost out the door when she calls after him, a surprisingly teasing lilt in her voice. “Go watch your boy, but you better be cheering for the Bears.”

Without looking back, Neil lifts his good arm and gives her a two fingered salute.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was my treat after getting a ton of grading done! Hopefully you enjoy!

Neil is doing his absolute best not to limp. He feels good, _really_ fucking good. But he knows the moment Andrew sees the limp there will be damage control and Neil really wants Andrew to feel as good as he does right now.

“What’s wrong with you?” Andrew asks, his voices monotone even as he stares Neil down.

The thing is, Neil knows that if he says _nothing_ or _I’m fine,_ Andrew will see right through him. But he also can’t tell the truth, that he still feels Andrew inside him, that the memory has him a little hard even now, that he’ll probably ache for the rest of the day and maybe later press his fingers against his rim just to feel.

It’s a standstill that would have once sent Neil into fits, trying to think of what to say not to ruin their morning. Instead, Neil sidles up even closer, tilting his head down until Andrew snorts and gives in to the obvious ploy. The kiss is dirty almost immediately, Neil pulling every trick in the book to have Andrew pressing forward, grabbing Neil’s hip, biting his neck hard enough to leave mouth shaped bruises that Neil will enjoy just as much as the ones on his hips.

“I feel amazing,” Neil says instead, tilting his head back so Andrew can bite at the thin skin under Neil’s jaw, just the way they both like.

Andrew hesitates as soon as Neil speaks, clearly putting two and two together as he pulls away. Sighing, Neil tilts his chin back down to find Andrew staring at him, already critical.

“You feel _amazing_?” Andrew asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

Neil just smirks, “Really _fucking_ amazing.”

They’ve played this game enough times for Andrew to know Neil isn’t lying, that he revels in the ache even if it sets Andrew on edge. But they’ve been together so long, they know where to give and where to take.

“I hate you,” Andrew hisses, lunging forward to kiss Neil again.

He’s playing mean, sucking Neil’s tongue hotly into his mouth, the barely there smirk obvious against Neil’s lips. Andrew keeps his hands on Neil’s hips as they kiss, purposefully there and no further. There isn’t a plea Neil could make to get Andrew to fuck him right now, but Andrew pressing him into the kitchen counter is so undeniably good that Neil’s bones melt until he can barely stand.

\--

Andrew Minyard has been on the Bulldogs for two years and some change when he shows up in Coach Styles’ office with a request. Minyard has never once asked for a damn thing, but he’s also never participated without complaining or done a press conference without sending someone off in tears or frustration.

But he’s also a damn good goalie, probably the best in the world, so Styles is more than willing to listen even as every line of Andrew’s body reads bored negligence.

“I need a couple weeks off.” It’s not a question, more of a command.

But it’s so shocking that it takes Styles a moment to react and blurt out the _no_ sitting on the tip of his tongue. As if sensing Styles’s impulse, Andrew levels a hard stare his way. It’s an unnerving enough look that Styles asks _why_ instead of _no_.

Andrew rolls his neck a little before fixing Styles again with that impassive stare. “Family emergency.”

And here’s the thing, Styles knows Andrew has a twin, but he’s states away, and married, and he doubts Andrew is his emergency contact. So, it still doesn’t explain why _Andrew_ needs time off. He’s about to say as much when Andrew sighs heavily, and tosses an Emergency Room release form onto Styles’ desk.

The first thing that catches Styles’s eye is the name at the top, printed in Andrew’s precise hand: _Neil Josten-Minyard._

There’s a record scratching somewhere as Styles’s eyes read over and over and over again: _Neil Josten-Minyard._

“You guys hyphenated?” It’s not even in the top ten questions Styles means to ask, the first one being _you’re married?_ And the second being _you’re married to Neil Josten?_ But it’s what comes out.

Andrew’s eyebrow shoots up, clearly surprised, although barely showing it. “Neil wanted to.”

Although he likely didn’t mean to, that one line tells Styles a wealth of information about their relationship. The fact that loud-mouth Neil Josten has that much control over Styles’s goalie, when he can barely get Andrew to stop the ball from entering the goal, is a little annoying.

But, a million other pieces fall together, the biggest one being why Minyard lives so far away from everyone else. Exactly halfway between here and Chicago, now that he thinks about it.

“I’m taking off.” Andrew stands, holding his hand out for the release forms.

Styles glances down quickly, his eyes scanning the doctor’s notes. _Emergency Appendicitis. Bed rest._ It’s the kind of thing he would have given any player time off for. The thought of arguing doesn’t cross his mind again, even if the idea of Minyard doting on anyone (but especially Neil fucking Josten) is near comical.

Handing the paper back, Styles shrugs. “Yeah, let us know if you need anything.”

They both know Andrew won’t, but Styles means it anyway. Once Andrew is out the door, it occurs to Styles to pull Andrew’s original contract. It had never crossed his mind to look at Andrew’s emergency contact, assuming it was Aaron or even Kevin Day.

Except, when his eyes flick down to the bottom of the page, there it is in black and white xeroxed glory: _Neil Josten-Minyard, Husband._

\--

Andrew is convinced that there has never been a more irritating sick person than Neil. It isn’t that Neil whines or asks Andrew to wait on him hand in foot. It’s much, much worse.

“Go back to bed,” Andrew snaps, not even looking away from where he’s pouring batter into cupcake tins.

There’s a long pause, then Andrew can hear Neil drop his sneakers by the door and shuffle into the kitchen behind him.

“Andrew?” Neil sounds so pitiful Andrew would roll his eyes if it didn’t cost so much effort.

“Yes, Neil.”

Neil’s skin is a little too warm from being tucked up in bed, but it isn’t fever hot when they touch so Andrew doesn’t worry. He holds himself still as Neil runs his hands up under Andrew’s shirt, feeling more for comfort than anything else.

Eventually, he satisfies himself and rests his chin on Andrew’s shoulder to wait. 

“Do you realize you had surgery three days ago?” Andrew asks, scrapping the last dregs of chocolate into the final cupcake mold.

“Yes, but—” Andrew turns abruptly, catching Neil off guard.

He stumbles, nearly falling if not for Andrew’s hand on his arm to steady him. “You’re drugged to hell and can’t stay on your feet, but you want to go for a run?”

Neil is scowling at him, probably because he knows Andrew is right.

“Tell me how that’s supposed to go, Neil.” It’s a taunt that Neil is clearly refusing to take, going to cross his arms, before thinking better about it and holding them stiffly at his side.

He’s wearing Andrew’s old Foxes jersey and a pair of basketball shorts so big they’re starting to slide off Neil’s hips. He was clearly trying to dress to run, but unable to wear anything too constrictive that rubbed against his stiches.

Even annoyed, he still allows Andrew to lean up and kiss his temple anyway. “Go sit on the couch.”

“But—”

“I’ll cuddle with you.” It’s dangling the very obvious carrot, but Neil instantly lights up and shuffles away without further protest.

Neil is the worst sick person in the world, but he’s also the easiest, so there is that.

\--

Kevin would like it on the record that there was no way in hell he was supposed to know that every player on the Chicago Bears was a complete moron, including Neil. After years of shouting himself horse at Neil and Andrew about the dangers of being out and a professional Exy player, and after years of receiving Neil and Andrew’s middle finger as his only response, how the hell should he know that nobody knew?

The answer is he shouldn’t, he couldn’t, and it was nobody’s fault but Neil’s.

\--

The Bears aren’t bad, Kevin will (begrudgingly) admit that. Well, not to _Neil,_ but to their Coach later, where Neil can’t hear.

To Neil he says, “You’ve gotten slow.”

Neil rolls his eyes, but knocks shoulders with Kevin as he heads for the locker room. “Keep telling yourself that, Day.”

He’s been gone for barely a minute, before Kevin is surrounded by eager Bears clamoring for his attention.

“So, Kevin,” one of the strikers, Andy (Kevin thinks), gets particularly close and Kevin frowns. “What was Neil like on the Foxes?”

“Lazy,” Kevin grunts.

That gets a reaction, the Bears all laughing uproariously until they realize Kevin isn’t joking.

“Lazy?” Amanda presses, clearly waiting for the punchline.

Kevin’s inspecting his racket when he says, “Yeah, lazy. Neil could have been the best striker in the country if he had spent half as much time on the court as he did in Andrew’s bed.”

Everything goes suspiciously quiet, enough that even Kevin notices and startles at the sea of shocked faces around him.

“What? What did I—Oh no. Wait, I didn’t…”

“Andrew _Minyard_?” Amanda looks delighted now, and Kevin feels sick.

He looks around frantically for Neil, who is still nowhere in sight. Kevin’s voice cracks as he whines, “Who?”

“Holy shit,” Andy whispers, and Kevin is startled to see his face is white as a sheet.

Kevin doesn’t know what’s happening, but some of the players on the team are laughing now as Andy grows increasingly frantic.

“Dude, you hit on Andrew _Minyard’s_ boyfriend,” someone laughs and Andy actually wavers on his feet.

“Husband,” Kevin corrects absently, then immediately slams his hand over his own mouth.

“I’m _leaving,_ ” Kevin declares, beating a hasty retreat before promptly running into Neil.

For his part, Neil is smirking, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. “I left you alone for ten minutes.”

“That was your mistake,” Kevin snaps, ducking around Neil and out off the court fast enough he thinks even Neil couldn’t stop him.

He still hears Amanda start, “Neil—”

And Neil say, “Yes, I’m married. Ten years. No, you can’t come over. No, you can’t ask me any questions.”

Another voice, maybe Jason, asks, “Can we come over?”

Neil sighs, “Fine.”

And Kevin is too far down the hall to hear anymore. Andrew is going to kill him either way, and he needs to call Thea to update his will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this mostly written for a while, but with the pandemic I just couldn't find the energy to edit. I hope you enjoy and you are all safe and healthy!

Andrew wasn’t the jealous type.

What did he have to be jealous of? Neil “I don’t swing, I only want you” Josten leaving him? Neil who lit up so fast when Andrew let him hold his fucking hand, or tilted his head up for a kiss the moment Andrew walked into a room, and asked every damn time he wanted to touch, and blossomed like some stupid fucking flower under Andrew’s hands?

Not hardly.

Neil still didn’t know that little striker on the Bears, _Andy,_ had a crush on him that was sky fucking high. And even if he did know, Neil wouldn’t give a fuck.

So no, Andrew didn’t get jealous. 

What he did get was _angry._ And again, not at stupid little idiots who thought they even had a chance with what was Andrew’s. Andy barely registered on his radar. People like Andy were insignificant to Andrew. They posed no threat, not like the asshole who currently had his hand sneaking towards Neil’s hips.

They were back in Columbia for a little nostalgia trip. Neil wanted to visit Wymack, have an overly personal moment with the Foxhole Court, say hello to Roland, and try to convince Andrew to make out in the parking lot like they used to do when they got tired of waiting for Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron. (It was written down, in that order, on some ridiculous checklist of Neil’s).

Instead, Andrew was watching Neil grow increasingly frustrated as he dodged wandering hands and waited on Roland for their drinks at the bar.

“I’m with my boyfriend, back off,” Neil growled, loud enough that Andrew could hear him over the pumping base of the music.

“Yeah, but—”

Andrew watched, detached, as his fist slammed into the idiot’s face. Andrew was punching up a little, the guy easily a foot taller than him, but it was a good hit, solid enough to make his skin sting and split across his knuckles. The guy went down hard, blood already blossoming between his fingers where he was clutching his nose. Andrew settled his arm around Neil’s waist and stared down at him impassively.

“He said, no.”

Roland appeared at that moment, setting their drinks down with a frown at the man on the floor. “Need me to call security?”

Neil shrugged, and Roland left, or maybe he didn’t, Andrew didn’t know or care because he could feel every one of Neil’s trimmers through the hand on Neil’s hip.

Sighing, Andrew yanked Neil closer, catching his chin and pulling him down so Andrew could talk directly into his ear. “Are you serious?”

The sheepish grin Neil shot him was enough to have Andrew sighing, even as he started to pull Neil towards the door. The guy on the floor might have said something, but Andrew had already decided he no longer existed.

There was a small alley next to the bar, a crawl space almost, where Andrew crowded Neil up against the dirty brick wall. Neil went easily, already grinning with a yes ready on his lips. Andrew pressed his palm to Neil’s mouth, hard enough to feel the edge of Neil’s teeth against his skin where Neil was still smiling.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Andrew repeated the question, feeling his palm shift as Neil nodded against his hold.

Andrew moved his hand before Neil could get any ideas about licking him there. Disgusting. 

Neil was watching him, his gaze hot and sticky on Andrew’s skin. “Yes.”

Catching Neil’s chin in his hand, Andrew squeezed hard. “I didn’t ask anything.”

Always the instigator, Neil relaxed into Andrew’s bruising grip instead of pulling back like someone with half a brain. “Then ask.”

For a second, Andrew thought about refusing, walking away and leaving his idiot gaping after him. Maybe a year ago he would have, testing Neil in the wake of feelings too intense, too chaotic for Andrew to control. But somewhere between one breath and the next, Neil and all of Andrew’s wants had become one in the same, so he held firm.

“Yes or no?”

“Andrew, _yes,_ ” Neil whispered, parting his lips automatically as Andrew leaned forward, hesitating only until Neil spoke.

Despite everything, the feeling of Neil hard against Andrew’s hip, the frantic thrum of Neil’s pulse, Neil kept his hands on the wall, and took only what Andrew was willing to give.

Neil’s cheeks were flushed when Andrew pulled away, the heat of his kiss turning Neil sunburn warm beneath Andrew’s palms. “What do you want?”

The response was predictable, but Andrew found he couldn’t stop himself from reacting. “Anything, Andrew. _Anything.”_

It was so _typical_ of Neil to get hot over this, over Andrew punching someone out, of the blood on the side of Andrew’s shirt where he had wiped his hand. Andrew didn’t know what to do with that, only to kiss Neil again, angrier than before. Shuddering, Neil nodded into the kiss, whimpering as Andrew’s hands fumbled the button of Neil’s jeans.

Andrew was about to slip his hand inside, but stopped instantly the moment Neil’s hands touched his. He looked up, ready to step away the moment Neil said no, but Neil was giving him that stupid sunshine grin again.

“Let’s go to the car?”

Andrew paused, remembering Neil’s weekend checklist with a spark of hatred. “Did you plan this?”

Seemingly ignoring the threat in Andrew’s voice, Neil cheerfully shook his head no. “Just lucky I guess.”

Andrew growled, dropping his hands and storming out of the alleyway towards the car. The irritation simmering low in Andrew’s gut still didn’t stop him from pushing Neil into the backseat and making that fucking idiot’s dreams come true.

\---

The photo was at a bad angle. It was dark, and they were in shadow. It was barely incriminating, except for all the other photos of them coming out of the bar, holding hands, Neil getting impatient and Andrew letting him kiss him under the bright parking lot light up against the Maserati.

There were other photos, photos of them leaving the alley, and getting in the car. Photos through the front windshield, framed by the empty front seats. Photos of Neil leaning over and Andrew grabbing the back of his neck roughly and kissing him hard enough it nearly split Neil’s lips.

The only thing Neil could feel thankful about was that there were no photos after that. Although Neil’s memory continued on, the feel of Andrew between his legs, his mouth, his hands, none of the photos reflected that reality.

Neil would have burned down the entire world if they had published photos of Andrew like that. Neil didn’t give a shit about himself, but the idea of anyone, _anyone_ , seeing Andrew vulnerable without his permission would have sent Neil into a total destruction. Thankfully, they had hunkered down in the backseat, the doors protecting them from prying camera lenses. There was zero faith in Neil that the reporters had chosen to do the right thing, over just not having the photos.

When Neil had shown up at practice the day after the photos were published, ready to take off someone’s head with a racquet, he had been summarily forced out for the day.

“Go do damage control with your boy,” Neil’s coach had instructed, and shooed him away before Neil could do more than check one of the subs into the wall hard enough to bruise. 

Neil thought about Andrew’s reaction to being called “Neil’s boy” then just thought about Andrew, and his body did the rest. It was how he found himself kicking around the Bulldog’s outer court, waiting for the team to come in from the locker room.

Andrew’s coach, Styles, had already seen Neil, rolled his eyes, and walked away. Neil took it as an open invitation to do what he wanted. So, he was still kicking his heels high up in the stands as the others came in.

They were clearly in a buzz, everyone running back and forth and murmuring to each other. Neil watched, curious as Andrew wandered in and everyone quieted down. It was clear, even from Neil’s height, that they were all staring at Andrew.

Typical Andrew, he barely spared them a glance, taking his place at the goal with a passive look across the court. Neil expected it when Andrew’s gaze snapped up to his. It was impossible for Neil to make out his facial features, but Neil pictured Andrew raising one, sardonic, eyebrow as he waited for Neil to make a move.

The two fingered salute Neil sent his way had Andrew responding in kind, although with one finger less. It was enough to get the rest of the team’s attention up on Neil.

“Josten!” someone shouted, but Neil couldn’t be bothered to look away from Andrew.

He only knew Andrew’s team in terms of how good or bad they are at Exy anyway, so it wasn’t like looking faces would matter to him. (Their defense was phenomenal, but their offence needed serious work in Neil’s professional opinion).

Styles banged heavily against the protective glass below, “Shut the hell up and get to work!”

That seemed to put an end to the gaping, and Neil realized he actually might like Styles. Andrew was ambivalent, which was almost a glowing a review. Neil still didn’t expect it when Styles made the climb to the nosebleed section and sat heavily a few seats to Neil’s right.

They weren’t looking at each other when Styles spoke, both their eyes trained on where one of the strikers was failing miserably at getting through the defense line.

“You know, we could use Andrew living closer to the court,” Styles started off, and Neil immediately went to stand.

He wasn’t about to let some old fart tell him what to do, but without missing a beat Styles kept talking, “And we could also use a damn good striker.”

Neil was still standing, but he turned to look down at Styles, who still hadn’t even glanced his way. Turning to the court, Neil watched as Andrew lazily batted the ball away.

“Think about it.” The seat sprung up, slapping against the back of the stadium chair as Styles stormed back down the stairs yelling, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

\----

Neil’s team was sprawled out across his and Andrew’s living room, full of steak Neil had grilled on the back porch and the cupcakes Andrew had made. They were unintentionally making Neil’s life a living hell of indecision.

Neil had told Andrew about the conversation with Styles as soon as they had both gotten home, Neil’s hands braced against the back of this very couch, Andrew pressed up against his front.

“What do you want?” Andrew had asked and frowned when Neil had shrugged.

“You.”

Scowling, Andrew pushed Neil hard enough to topple him over the back of the couch. “But what do you _want_?”

And that was the problem in a nutshell, what did Neil want? The Bears weren’t the Foxes, never would be, but Neil felt he had a little slice of that again and wasn’t sure he wanted to leave it yet.

“Who wants more beer?” Andy yelped, clearly one too many in even as he stumbled to the backyard for the cooler.

The others quickly followed until it was just three. Andrew had his arm thrown across the back of the couch, not touching, but still present around the arc of Neil’s shoulders. Amanda was on the loveseat, her feet propped up on the coffee table as she watched them closely.

“Question?” Andrew drawled.

Neil was distracted at the sudden pressure of Andrew’s fingers dragging lightly across the back of his neck.

Amanda took the prompt for what it was. “Are you transferring?”

Startled, Neil turned to look at Andrew before realizing she was asking _him._ The pressure on the back of Neil’s neck increased as Andrew’s palm pressed firmly into his skin. Neil had thought a lot about this, about what he wanted to do, where he wanted to be. The Bears were an amazing time, well rounded, and the players moved seamlessly on the court.

It felt stupid to say he wanted a challenge like the Bulldogs. A team that was good, but could be great. Why should he leave a team he loved, to struggle on a team he didn’t even know? But, that _was_ what he wanted: a team that Neil and Andrew could form together, again, like they had helped Kevin do with the Foxes.

The answer surprised Neil more than he expected, the words tumbling out without meaning to. “Yeah, at the end of the season.”

Andrew squeezed Neil’s neck hard, before letting go entirely. Neil didn’t say a thing when Andrew stood and left the room.

\----

Neil was glad when Amanda kept the news to herself. He wanted to enjoy the last few games with the Bears, wanted to tell them in his own time. It still felt bittersweet as he waved them all out the door, as if the goodbye had already happened.

The house was quiet once again, and it only took Neil a second to find Andrew in their bedroom, already dressed for sleep. He was pulling back the covers when Neil started to fidget.

“Hey, you’re not mad, right? About the transfer?”

Andrew paused, a quick second hesitation, before he finished pulling the blankets back. Neil waited, knowing he was on Andrew’s time.

When Andrew finally responded, he was nose to nose with Neil, his eyes narrowed as he inspected every inch of Neil’s face.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Andrew hissed before shoving Neil towards the bathroom with a command to get ready for bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I've had a difficult time writing with everything going on, but I've enjoyed writing these little slice of life scenes all the same!

The sun was bright enough that Andrew had to squint even from behind his sun glasses. There were crowds of people close enough that he could actually smell their sweat and sunblock, and everything was too loud and too close and he was furious that he had been talked into this.

It was only made worse by the fact that Neil’s hand was slick against his, and the idiot was grinning so wide his face probably hurt. It was enough to make Andrew scowl harder as Neil pulled him into line for yet another rollercoaster.

Andrew tipped his face up, the cool mist spraying over the line of people clouding his sunglasses and bringing on the barest relief.

When he finally looked down, Andrew could still somehow make Neil out through the haze of water droplets on his lenses. Neil had his arms crossed, leaning back against the metal bar separating the lines, clearly watching Andrew.

“This’s my first time at an amusement park.” Neil said, his smirk too sharp to look at when Andrew finally took his sunglasses of to clean them.

“So you said.”

Andrew pushed the glasses up onto the top of his head, the shade from the tent covering the line enough to let Andrew see without them.

Neil hummed, still smiling lightly at Andrew as they shuffled forward in line.

“Staring,” Andrew chastised, but still held Neil’s gaze regardless.

“You like it.” Neil accused, no heat in his voice.

They both knew it was true, even if Andrew would rather cut out his own tongue than admit it.

When Neil shifted lightly on his feet, Andrew rolled his eyes. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Neil defended, but he had a look on his face that told Andrew he knew exactly what Andrew meant.

Neil was so easy to read, pathetic really. It was easy to see how much he wanted to kiss Andrew, right here in this stupid line, with a child eating a popsicle in front of them, and a group of teenage punks right behind.

“No.”

Shrugging, Neil moved forward again. He reached towards Andrew questioningly, waggling his fingers a few inches away from Andrew until he sighed and took Neil’s hand in his own.

They did that now, held hands in public. They were the kind of couple who held hands, and sometimes, when he was feeling really good, Andrew would let Neil kiss his cheek at dinner. Andrew even thought of them as a couple, even if he never, ever, said it out loud. This was who they were now.

Andrew wanted to throw up. He wanted to die. He wanted to live forever in this moment, with Neil’s sweaty fingers locked between his.

It took thirty minutes to get to the front of the line. When they sat down and the safety bars crowded over them, Andrew could feel Neil start to vibrate, his brain and his desires at war every time they had done this today. Trapped, but desperately wanting it all the same.

Andrew didn’t look when he reached over, smacking Neil in the face accidentally on purpose until Neil grabbed his hand again. Neil squeezed it once, and the car started to move. It was possible Andrew would never hold a racquet again with the way Neil was trying to break the fine bones in his hand, but he didn’t pull away for the entire ride, not until they were securely back at the loading station and Neil’s breathing had settled down.

When they clambered out of their seats, Neil wobbled slightly before Andrew steadied him with a hand on his hip.

“Idiot,” Andrew snapped, his voice coming out far fonder than he ever intended.

\--

Emma passed the ball to Neil, shouting as the other team’s defense took her down hard against the glass seconds after the pass. Neil huffed, pushing himself, harder, faster, his lungs burning, legs screaming as he dodged past the other team’s strikers.

The goal was right there, growing larger in Neil’s sight as he moved closer and closer. Neil didn’t know the rookie goalie’s name, but he knew his tells. A twitch of the racquet, it was all Neil needed to feint right and swing.

Red blossomed in Neil’s eyes as the buzzer sounded and satisfaction thrummed in Neil’s veins as the final seconds clicked down to zero.

When Neil turned around, his new team was celebrating, bouncing together at the center of the court. Neil knew he should join them, bond with his new team, but Andrew had just taken his helmet off on the other side of the court and Neil was in the process of remembering to breath.

He had told Andrew once before how much he liked that look, Andrew’s hair plastered to his face, his skin flushed, his eyes intent on Neil. He hadn’t let a single goal in the entire second half, and Neil wanted.

“Neil! Neil!” The team had made their way over to him, blocking his view of Andrew and slapping his back fiercely.

“Damn Neil, I knew you were good…but _damn!”_ Josh laughed, Neil’s new captain looking pleased for the first time since Neil had transferred to their team.

Neil couldn’t even blame them, so he played along. He had brought a lot of drama in his wake. By the time they separated, Andrew had already left the court and Neil felt immeasurably fond, picturing Andrew’s impassive stare as he wandered off to the locker room without him. 

\--

Neil balked when he heard Styles call his name. His new coach was big enough to nearly block the door to the press-briefing room, but Neil could still hear their voices and the click of cameras resonating through the hallway.

“No.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Styles waited without saying a word.

“Seriously, no. You don’t want me in there.” Neil tried again, pleading a little.

“There are a lot of things I don’t want. World hunger, an infant in the white house, my dog to wake me up at 2am to take a dump. But you know what? I have to deal with those things, anyway.” Styles moved out of the way, gesturing for Neil to precede him through the door.

Neil shrugged. Styles either knew what he was asking, or he would learn.

The sound in the room noticeably went up several decibels when the reporters caught sight of Neil. Andrew was surprisingly already in the room, his eyes resolutely fixed to his phone, ignoring both his teammates and the reporters calling his name.

The seat at Andrew’s side was empty except for Andrew’s foot, which he moved without looking up when Neil came up beside him. 

“Hey,” Neil mumbled, keeping his voice low so no one but Andrew could hear him.

Andrew grunted, eyes still locked onto his phone where he was playing Animal Restaurant. Neil had to fight back a grin, not wanting to give the reporters even the smallest crumb. Andrew had downloaded the game a month ago and now spent every waking moment feeding the rabbits and deer of the world with a single-minded intensity.

Maybe Andrew would share his phone? Maybe Styles would let them both just sit there and not talk to a single reporter and go on with his—

Styles’ fist connected roughly with the table, startling Neil enough to look sharply to his right.

“Got your attention?” Styles smirked. “Good.”

Before Neil could turn back to looking over Andrew’s shoulder, Style’s tapped the microphone in front of him with a resonant thump. “Thank you all for coming. I will open the floor to any and all questions.”

Andrew sat forward abruptly, and Neil thought for a second he was going to say something, but instead he just he shifted and settled back again.

“This is for Neil Josten.”

Neil sighed, and Andrew kicked him.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what is it like playing on the same team as your husband?” The reporter was smiling before he had even finished asking the question.

Andrew didn’t even react, but Neil felt irritation spike through him. Sure, it was public knowledge that they were together, but the marriage fact and been blessedly left out. That wasn’t for them, for anyone but Andrew and Neil.

Neil wanted to walk out, storm out actually, but it was obvious that he wanted an explosive reaction to write about. And Neil wasn’t in the business of giving reporters what they wanted.

Neil sat forward slowly, feeling his body loosen as he smiled with all of his teeth. “Thrilling.”

There was a time where Neil would have been afraid of this, of how easy it was to turn cold and hungry. But Andrew’s foot was pressed up against his under the table, and all Neil could think was how funny it was when the reporter went pale and sat back without another word.

Looking out at the sea of startled faces, Neil sat back with a smirk. “Next question.”

\--

The new house was bigger, almost too big, in Neil’s opinion. Who needed this many rooms? What was he supposed to do with all of this space? But it was close to the court, in a gated neighborhood, and at the very least Neil liked that he they had installed security cameras for every inch of the property.

“Move,” Andrew nudged Neil to the side as he carried the last of the boxes in from the truck.

Neil sighed, leaning up against the wall by the door. Andrew had sweat through the t-shirt he was wearing, an old Foxes shirt that Neil was pretty sure was his. It was tight in Andrew’s shoulders, making the bulge of muscles stand out as Neil watched appreciatively.

“I left your keys in the door. There’s still another box if you want to be useful.”

When Neil turned, the door was still propped open, and he could see his keys dangling from the doorknob. When he pulled them out of the lock, he counted them out of habit: the key to Andrew’s Maserati, Neil’s BMW, the key to the house in Columbia, and the new key to their house foreign but comforting all the same.

Tucking the keys into his pocket, Neil went to grab the last box to bring it home.


End file.
